


Side by Side

by JacobFlood



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III
Genre: Battle, Death, Friendship, Gen, Goblin - Freeform, Humans, Last Stand, Loss, Orc, Paladin, Sacrifice, Small Towns, The Scourge, Undead, excessive amounts of original characters, siege, the inevitable consequence of reading so much David Gemmell as a teen, unlikely allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26460934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobFlood/pseuds/JacobFlood
Summary: In a remote mountain town lies a mine rich enough to draw the attention of the Scourge. The dead have come. The dead always keep coming. The town's garrison holds only seven soldiers, but they will hold the line. But the human lands are beset by horrors and divisions at all sides. If the town wants a saviour, they're going to have to arrange one themselves.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	1. True Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've never played WoW, so I'm working entirely off Reign of Chaos here)

It was the boy that saw the dead first. He had been far from the town, at the base of the mountain path. A new scheme of planting sharp burrs in the main road had occurred to him. Then he could lurk back in the trees to see the horses throw their riders. He was keeping off the path, just in case someone from the town came past and reported back to his mother what he’d been up to. He realised later that this simple decision probably saved his life.

There they were, assembling, waiting. Tall robed figures with eyes empty of light. Hunched half-corpses, all jutting bone and teeth constantly chewing. Reeking wagons that rattled and creaked. And further back, something large that writhed and shuffled, something with too many limbs.

The boy’s eyes were wide for those few moments, all his ideas undone of what was possible in this world, what was real and what belonged to the realm of story. Then he was scrambling back up the path to the town, too out of breath to scream.

In the town’s tiny garrison, Captain Willow was reclining in his chair, out of his armour, trying to carve a pipe. The boy coming through the door made him slip, his knife flicking into the surface of the table. He could feel his face beginning to set in anger. The boy was enough to do that to him most days.

‘The dead!’ said the boy, whose name was Nathaniel. ‘The dead are here!’

Across the room there was an audible sigh from Drugen, one of the two dwarven riflemen assigned to the garrison. ‘That’s a good one, son,’ he said. ‘Might’ve worked better if you’d started there, rather than building up to it.’

‘No,’ said Nathaniel. His face was red and he was taking huge breaths. ‘No, it’s true! They’re here, you’ve got to believe me.’

‘We believed you the first time,’ said Drugen. ‘Trolls. Then it was ogres. Then ghosts.’

‘The trolls were real!’ said Nathaniel.

‘Never saw hide nor hair of them, though, did we?’ said Drugen. ‘Must’ve been those invisible trolls we keep hearing about, hey Captain?’

Willow was silent. The rumours of the undead plague were starting to reach even their isolated community. Most of the townsfolk regarded them as either outright lies, or else something so far from their daily life that they need not give any thought to it. Willow himself was not sure. Sometimes late into the night, he talked to Laria, the elven sorceress assigned to the squad, and the tales she told of magic and the twisted ends it could be turned to were enough to give him nightmares for weeks after. But the boy lied. The boy lied as easily as he breathed.

‘Wait,’ said Willow. He went out into their tiny yard, a narrow patch of dirt hemmed in on two sides by garrison walls, one by the sheer rock face of the mountain, and on the fourth by a wooden gate that led to an alley that cut behind a row of other town buildings, leading all the way to the forest.

The two footmen under his command, Atterton and Sidney, were sparring lazily, their movements sluggish and heavy. At Willow’s gesture, they halted.

‘Get your armour on,’ he said. ‘That boy said there’s undead at the base of the pass. Check it out and report back.’

‘That little shit?’ said Atterton. ‘Why are we even bothering, Captain?’

‘Yeah, remember that time we spent running around in the forest after them trolls?’ said Sidney. ‘I fell in that hole in the tree roots. I’m still getting the mud out of the cracks of my armour.’

Atterton laughed. ‘That was pretty funny. I’ve changed my mind, let’s go. Maybe we can find another hole for you to fall into.’ He strode past Willow and into the garrison. Sidney threw down his wooden sword and spat.

‘That kid needs a beating or three to keep him in line,’ he said. ‘With respect, sir, this is a waste of time.’

‘Maybe,’ said Willow. ‘But if he’s wrong, all you’ve done is walk down the hill and back up again. If he’s right—’

‘Undead, in this backwater?’

Willow just stared at him.

‘Yeah, I’m going,’ said Sidney, and he went.

Willow stood for a moment in the yard, enjoying the open air and the quiet. A bird called out, somewhere far above him. He sighed and re-entered the garrison, where Atterton and Sidney were strapping their armour on. The boy had made himself scarce. Drugen was cleaning his rifle.

‘Cleared off quick-sharp,’ he said. ‘Soon as your back was turned.’

More likely to get out of range of the footmen’s anger, Willow thought. He sat down and resumed carving his pipe. Amid much grumbling, Atterton and Sidney left out the door onto the street, heading down to investigate. For a while the only sounds in the garrison were Willow’s knife slowly shaving the wood, and the clink of Drugen messing around in the internal workings of his rifle. The others were all absent: Laria and Reldin, the other rifleman, were on guard duty at the mine, and Browning, the knight, was off-duty and most likely in the tavern. Eventually Drugen stood up and made a show of stretching. Willow waited for what was coming.

‘Might check on the orc,’ said Drugen.

‘He won’t have gone anywhere,’ said Willow.

‘For my own peace of mind then.’

Willow shrugged and didn’t look up. The only way out of their tiny jail cell was through the room they were both currently sitting in, but both Willow and Drugen already knew that. Capturing an orc was the most exciting thing to have happened since Willow was posted to the town, and going by how often the townsfolk talked about it, the most exciting thing they’d seen in years. A squad was supposed to come and transfer the orc somewhere, a larger prison, but there had been no sign of them. They were late now, Willow noted, by over a week.

‘Key’s on the hook,’ he said. He heard the jingle of Drugen taking the key off the hook, the scratching as it went in the lock, and then the thump of the jail door closing behind him. Inside, the room was split in half by ceiling to floor metal bars. Even the huge muscles of the orc couldn’t crack through those, Willow was pretty sure.

The day dragged on. Drugen came out of the jail and resumed cleaning his rifle. Browning came in, clearly slightly drunk, and him and Drugen swapped for guard duty at the mine. Laria and Reldin came in, relieved, and had their afternoon meal with Willow. The captain took the orc’s meal into him. Neither of them spoke, though their eyes met for a brief moment. He couldn’t read the emotion contained there. He left and absorbed himself in pointless tasks around the garrison, straightening and tidying things that did not need straightening or tidying. And still Atterton and Sidney did not return.

Doubt and guilt churning in his gut, Willow gestured Laria and Reldin up, going for his own armour and sword. In brief words he filled them in on what had happened. It was long past the time when the two footmen ought to have come in through the door, cursing the boy and tearing their armour off before heading to the tavern.

The town itself was in the shape of an L, one path sloping at first gradually and then steeply down off the mountain, the other path ending at the pocket of forest that, as far as anybody knew, was a plateau that went nowhere. The mine rested at the corner of the L. As the trio went past it, Willow quietly informed Browning and Drugen of what they were doing, instructing them to remain at their posts.

Browning belched. ‘That boy can’t help himself,’ he said. ‘Sidney probably just got his arse stuck in a hole again.’

Drugen grinned, but the grim expression on their captain’s face kept any of them from laughing. Willow turned away, and Laria and Reldin followed. No doubt some of the townsfolk had overheard and the word of possible undead was already spreading through the town. It couldn’t be helped, thought Willow. The downside of such a quiet posting was the inability to do the smallest of actions without it being common knowledge within the hour. Him keeping mostly to himself only made the talk of him grow ever more detached from the real.

They trod past the houses built up to where the ground became too impractically steep to sink foundations into. Then a careful downwards trek to the base of the mountain, where the slightest stumble might send you a good part of the way down in a single fall. Many an injury had been caused in the past by an incautious or new traveller doing just that.

‘You getting any reports we’re not, Captain?’ asked Reldin, once they were out of earshot of the town. ‘Tavern rumours sound mostly like shit, as regular.’

Willow shook his head. ‘Nothing solid,’ he said. ‘Pieces from all over. Nobody has the big picture. Second-hand and third-hand reports. Not a lot better than what you’d get in the tavern.’

‘But what do you think?’ asked Laria. She was stringing her bow as they went. When she’d arrived under Willow’s command, all she had with her was the ratty robe she’d been wearing and her knowledge of a handful of spells. Willow had taken one look at her and set about getting her some basic boiled leather armour, along with extra martial training. She could use a sword passably well, but archery was where he had focussed her talents. Making the best of the limited resources he was given by the higher-ups.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Willow. ‘The common word is the dead walking. We’re losing touch with towns in out-of-the-way places.’

‘Huh. Like us,’ said Reldin.

‘What would the dead want with our little town?’ asked Laria.

‘All we’ve got is the mine,’ said Reldin.

Willow held up a hand for silence. A slight bend in the path was about to bring the crossroads at the base of the mountain into view, where the route to the town headed off from the main road. He led them off the path, into the thin trees that cushioned it from the hard face of the mountain itself.

Again they descended, slower and quieter. When he first heard the noise, Willow dropped into a low crouch and felt more than heard the others do the same behind him. Clinging to tree roots, he lowered himself gingerly further down the hill. More than one noise now, he could tell, all of them unfamiliar. Like teeth trying to gnash their way through his helmet, echoing inside his skull, louder and louder.

He parted the branches of a bush and saw what the boy had. The waiting dead. He heard Laria’s intake of breath and Reldin’s whispered curse from behind him, confirming these creatures were no trick of his brain. Corpses that still stood and walked and massed like an army. Robed figures surrounding something that blazed with sickly green light. As Willow watched, the light formed into the outline of a building.

‘Necromancers,’ breathed Laria. Willow looked where she was pointing, saw the shambling figures, still living perhaps but with more similarity to the dead that surrounded them.

‘And that looks like a siege engine,’ whispered Reldin. A kind of wagon loaded with yet more corpses, the flies around it thick and dark.

‘Back,’ hissed Willow. ‘Very quietly.’

Atterton and Sidney, headed down here with no idea that they needed caution, would have been seen by the dead straight away. Maybe their corpses already shambled among the others. Maybe they had been torn to pieces beyond what even a necromancer could revive.

Each movement calculated to be as silent as possible, Willow, Laria, and Reldin near-climbed their way back up through the trees. They rejoined the path once they were out of sight of the undead forces. They stood in silence on the slope for a time, breathing heavily.

‘Even the dead need iron,’ said Reldin. ‘Those wagons, they—’

‘Move,’ said Willow, and he started shooting up the hill, bent so low as to almost be on all fours. The others soon started after him. The town had to know, had to prepare. Soon, the dead would start the ascent. Soon, the dead would be at the edge of the town, growing their army by bloody violence and dark magic. Willow’s blood thumped in his head, his breaths coming ragged and fast. The town had to know. Soon, the siege of their home would begin.


	2. Town Hall

Willow left the others to spread the warning through the town and assemble the meeting. He set Drugen and Browning a ways down the path, telling them to race back up, making as much noise as possible, at the first sign of movement from the undead. Browning went on foot, as he did everywhere in the town. His horse had been unhappy with the steep climb the first time arriving to the new posting. On Willow’s understanding, this had escalated into an argument, Browning had tried for a kick, received one in return, and now nobody rode the horse.

Alone in the garrison, Willow rooted around at his tiny desk for ink and paper. Their chances of surviving a full assault were, he knew, impossible. Even with the extra bodies of Sidney and Atterton, they would be overrun sooner or later. All Willow could do was everything in his power to make it later rather than sooner, to hold the dead at bay until the Alliance could send fuller reinforcements.

He scratched out the note as quickly as he could. On his way out of the garrison, he paused in front of the closed jail cell door. The orc was another problem that ought to have been someone else’s by now. The note still folded in his hand, Willow took the key and let himself into the jail. The orc, seeing the captain armed and armoured, stood up, his expression again unreadable.

They stood in silence as the moments dragged on. Willow wondered if his own face was as inscrutable, or if all of his thoughts stood clearly there for all to see.

‘Who is it?’ said the orc. His voice was deep and smooth. Willow supposed he must have heard it before, but he couldn’t remember it carrying so much surety.

‘The undead,’ he said.

The orc breathed deeply. ‘You don’t have enough bodies,’ he said. ‘The high ground is good, but not enough.’

Willow swallowed. This hadn’t been the discussion that he wanted to have. ‘I wanted to say,’ he said. It stuck in his throat. He started again. ‘I wanted to say, I’m not going to leave you here to die.’

The corners of the orc’s mouth twitched. ‘My thanks,’ he said.

Willow left the jail, locked the door behind him, and headed for the tavern. The people of the town were still approaching in ones and twos, Laria at the door, telling them that the captain would explain everything, just remain calm, everything will be alright. Willow lingered back in the shadow of the garrison until the last of the townsfolk had gone inside. Laria turned at his approach. She was chewing at her lower lip and passing her still-strung bow back and forth between each hand.

‘Have I been lying to them?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Willow. He held up the note he’d written. ‘I’m sending for reinforcements. Light knows how long that’ll take. We just have to keep everybody alive until then.’

‘And my invisibility could get someone past the undead,’ said Laria.

Willow nodded. That was what he had had in mind.

‘I won’t go,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t ask you to,’ he said. ‘I need you here.’ He hesitated. ‘Any of the dead you can turn into sheep would be a blessing.’

Laria grinned suddenly. ‘I still can’t believe you helped me test that spell. You were such a cute sheep, too.’

‘They might look cute,’ came a third voice, ‘but they’re bastards, every one.’

Willow and Laria turned and saw Venkel, the town’s one and only goblin, wrapped in furs and leaning on a spear. He lived in a little hut right near the edge of the forest and made his living trapping creatures for their meat and furs. Some of those creatures were larger than he was, but that never gave him any pause. All attempts by Elliot, the mine foreman, to get the famed goblin engineering expertise to assist in the mine had been met with disinterest and disdain from Venkel. Mostly he just wanted to be left alone.

‘Thank you for coming,’ said Laria. ‘Everybody else is inside.’

Venkel sniffed. ‘Someone was yelling about the dead,’ he said. ‘Usual shit, or what?’

Laria looked at Willow for a moment, who gave no sign of contradiction. She shook her head. ‘We saw them,’ she said. ‘At the bottom of the pass.’

‘Humph,’ went Venkel. ‘End of days. Give these humans something real to yell about. No offence, Captain.’

‘None taken,’ said Willow. Venkel sniffed again, and stomped inside. There was silence in the town. Willow looked up and down the empty street. Their whole world could fit inside one little wooden building, even if it would be standing room only.

‘You ready?’ asked Laria.

Willow shrugged. ‘I have to be.’

Inside the tavern, the bodies were pressed close and Willow started to sweat under his armour. People made way for him and Laria as they headed towards the bar, where Reldin was perched fielding confused questions. He was openly relieved to have the captain take over, and helped Willow to stand up on the bar beside him.

Behind the bar, Ilana, the barkeep, smiled up at them. ‘Want a drink, Captain?’

Willow exhaled. ‘Thank you. Maybe in a moment.’

He faced the room and saw the sea of panicked faces stretched out before him. Most of them he knew by name; all of the faces were familiar. He tried holding out his hands, and found that it caused quiet.

‘Thank you,’ he said again. He coughed and angled his voice louder. ‘I wish I had better news for you. There are undead massing at the base of the pass. We believe it is only a matter of time before they move against us.’ His eyes found Nathaniel, the boy who had brought them the first warning, and a spike of guilt shot through him. ‘We have Nathaniel to thank for the warning,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, son. I should have believed you. Because I didn’t, two of my people are dead.’

A concerned murmur ran through the room. Reldin patted Willow’s arm and spoke up.

‘They were good men,’ he said. ‘But their sacrifice won’t be in vain, will it? I say we give these dead bastards a nice taste of the mountain air, and then send them crashing back down below.’

There were nods and voices of agreement. Willow gave Reldin a look to stop him from firing the crowd up any further, and spoke again.

‘A frontal assault would be suicide,’ he said. ‘We need to get word through, and hold till reinforcements arrive. There aren’t enough of us, but we can use the high ground to our advantage. And they don’t know we know about them. They won’t expect us to be ready.’

The boy Nathaniel was pushing through the bodies. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the message through.’ His parents, who rarely spoke but to argue about their son, began doing just that.

‘Are you out of your mind, boy?’ yelled his father, Elliot.

‘Let him go,’ said his mother. Her name was Tabitha and Willow was genuinely scared of her. He opened his mouth to try and hold things together, but Elliot kept yelling.

‘You’re as insane as he is! I’m not letting my son go running off to Light-knows-where, through those damn monsters.’

‘They won’t see him,’ said Tabitha. She looked at her son and smiled. ‘Will they?’

Nathaniel grinned and shook his head. He leapt up and took the note from Willow’s hand, darted past his father’s reach, and headed for the door. Willow gestured to Laria, who nodded and followed after the boy.

‘Your son has the best chance of any of us,’ said Willow. ‘He knows the terrain, he can keep quiet, and Laria will make him invisible.’

Elliot’s volume dropped to a low grumble. ‘The boy can be quiet when he’s a mind to, I’ll give him that.’ He looked at Willow. ‘If he doesn’t come back, Captain, on your head be it.’

Willow just nodded. What difference did one more responsibility make, really. At the other side of the room he saw Venkel clamber up onto a table.

‘Few things you oughta know,’ the goblin said. ‘There’s a way off the mountain on the other side of the forest. S’not a dead end. Never seen it myself, though. The old bastard in his cabin would know more.’

‘Balthasar,’ said Karstan, stepping forward. Along with his brother Josef, he supplied the town and mine with what lumber it required, treading into the forest in search of the right wood for the job.

Venkel snorted. ‘Yeah, we never got on name terms.’

‘He used to be a paladin,’ said Karstan. ‘We could ask him for help.’

This time Venkel outright laughed. ‘Maybe he was, once upon a time. He’s more wizened than a rotten apple these days. I wouldn’t bet he could lift a butter knife.’

‘Still,’ said Karstan, quiet but firm.

‘Yeah, there’s more,’ said Venkel. ‘Before I was interrupted. You’re not gonna like it.’ He gestured roughly at Willow. ‘Well, I dunno how you’ll feel about it, Captain, but this lot won’t like it. You gotta let the orc out.’

The outrage was immediate. Willow raising his hands again did nothing to quell the noise. It was all the usual rhetoric, how the orcs couldn’t be trusted, how he’d murder them all in their beds, how he had no interest in helping them and would piss off at the first opportunity, how once his blood was up he’d attack whoever was nearest. Venkel just grinned over the people at Willow and waited.

Willow surveyed the room and saw the discussions, now breaking into smaller arguments, showed no signs of slackening. He dropped off the bar, then leaned back to talk to Reldin.

‘When they’ve calmed down, get them into groups. Cut logs for barricades, get the explosives from the mine, get every weapon you can, pick the best fighters for a militia.’ He looked through the mess of bodies and saw Tabitha, the boy’s mother, near to Venkel, saying something quietly to him. ‘Get those two to help.’

‘Will do, Captain,’ said Reldin.

Willow strode through the crowd and exited the tavern. Nobody tried to stop him, too bound up in their own concerns to think that far ahead, to consider where he might be going. He went back over the street and into the garrison. Again he went into the jail and faced the orc through the bars.

‘If we die, so do you,’ said Willow.

The orc grunted. Maybe there was surprise there. ‘You want my help.’

‘I do. Not everybody else will.’

‘Huh. I’m a better fighter than any of this town. They can’t see that, they’re welcome to die first.’

Willow couldn’t find anything to say to that. He fumbled with the keys and unlocked the gate in the bars. He stood back very quickly, but the orc moved slow. He stretched his arms up and back, rolled his shoulders, then strode out. He glanced at Willow.

‘I’m going to take my weapons,’ he said. Willow nodded. The weapons in question leaned up against the opposite wall; none of the garrison had wanted to claim them. A hefty axe went into the orc’s belt, and a large dark sword was slung over his back. As he stood straight, he rose a good half-head over the human captain.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Willow.

‘Dravoth,’ said the orc. Willow said his own name and Dravoth nodded. He looked Willow up and down. ‘You’re a little short for a warchief, but you’ll do.’

‘I’ll have to.’

‘These people are going to need blood as proof,’ said Dravoth.

‘I don’t know if the undead bleed,’ said Willow.

Dravoth smiled wide. ‘Shall we go find out?’


	3. Bestiary

Outside the garrison, Willow and Dravoth met some of the townsfolk who were exiting the tavern. The humans staggered, being pushed from behind by others coming out who couldn’t see what was happening, but not wanting to get any closer to the huge armed orc that had appeared in front of them.

Willow kept his hand on his sword hilt as the crowd inevitably pressed closer. Then, from amongst the people emerged a small girl who had seen no more than six or seven summers. Willow knew her as Violet, the daughter of one of the miners. Somehow she had gotten hold of a stick that was significantly taller than her. With its end pointed at the sky, she approached Dravoth.

‘Venkel said you’re going to help us,’ said Violet. ‘I like Venkel.’ She leaned forward and dropped to a whisper. ‘He gives me bird eggs to eat when nobody else is around. He says he likes talking to someone he doesn’t have to look up to.’

Dravoth smiled and dropped into a crouch. He nodded like he understood, though Willow was fairly certain there was no way he could have ever met Venkel.

‘What colour are the eggs?’ asked Dravoth.

‘Mostly blue,’ said Violet. ‘But sometimes he brings me spotty ones. They’re smaller, but they taste nicer.’

Dravoth bared his teeth. ‘Are you worried I’m going to eat you, little one?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my stick.’

He looked it up and down with an experienced eye. ‘It’s a good stick,’ he said. ‘It needs a pointy end, though. I’ve got to go to the forest, I’ll find you a better stick while I’m there.’

Violet considered this. ‘Will it be as big as this one?’

Dravoth grinned. ‘Even bigger.’ He stood upright and looked at the crowd, most of whom had gone quiet during his exchange with the child. Nobody spoke to him.

Willow cleared his throat and stepped forward. ‘This is Dravoth,’ he said. ‘He’s agreed to help us. If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.’

Reldin came forward through to the front of the group, pushing aside those in his way. ‘You won’t get any complaints, captain.’ He glared at those near him. ‘We’ve got bigger problems these days. Any living arm’s a good one.’

Dravoth angled his voice lower. ‘I need to go to the forest,’ he said.

‘So do I,’ said Willow.

‘Go,’ said Reldin. ‘The old man’s more likely to listen to you. We’ll get started here.’

Willow nodded. There never seemed enough time to thank people as much as he felt they deserved. ‘We won’t be long,’ he said.

Reldin hefted his rifle over his shoulder. ‘Affirmative, captain.’ He turned to face the townsfolk. ‘Alright then, what are we all just standing here for? Undead on our doorstep, people, let’s get to work.’

Willow and Dravoth strode towards the forest. The street towards that end of the town narrowed, became less trodden. It wound between a few trees, then disappeared entirely. Soon the noises of Reldin ordering the townsfolk about were lost behind them. They trod through the forest in silence for a few minutes.

‘You handled that well,’ said Willow. ‘With the girl.’

‘The child has instincts,’ said Dravoth. ‘They should be encouraged.’ He was constantly looking around him, eyes darting through the undergrowth, ahead and behind and up into the branches. For a way out, thought Willow. For some way to escape his obligations. Abruptly he halted. That sounded rather uncomfortably like he was thinking about himself rather than the orc. Dravoth also stopped and looked back, waiting.

‘Would you help us, if you didn’t have to?’ asked Willow.

Dravoth shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be here. Your people don’t like me. But that doesn’t mean they deserve to die.’

‘You can fight, so you should.’

‘Yes,’ said Dravoth. ‘You understand.’ And he kept walking.

Willow fell in step with him and they began talking over the defence of the town. Dravoth suggested various things that Willow had already thought of and some he hadn’t. Barricades could be made of anything heavy, Dravoth said, while the logs ought to be sharpened and pointed down the hill at various angles, forcing any attacker into a nest of converging spikes. The dead might not die again, but they could be slowed, or cut to pieces beyond any effectiveness.

After wearing out this talk, a question that had been working at Willow made its way out.

‘What did Drugen talk to you about? In your—in your cell?’

‘The dwarf with the grey whiskers,’ said Dravoth. ‘He came often.’

‘Yes, at first I thought it was personal, orcs killed his family or—’

‘Is that personal? Is that my person who killed his family?’ There was silence. Dravoth continued. ‘He did nothing and said nothing. He sat and I sat and we looked at each other. I know his face better than many of my own tribe.’

Willow thought over this. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this absence wasn’t it. He made a policy of not asking about the pasts of those in his squad; his own was entirely unremarkable and still managed to drag down his mood whenever the pictures came into his head again. Whatever was in Drugen’s own past that had built up this fascination, this mental block, it was not Willow’s business.

‘Some times he has been about to speak,’ added Dravoth. ‘But he stops himself. I do not know what is in his head, but we understand each other. Or perhaps we only think we understand each other.’

Still he was looking all around them, his head constantly moving. Willow cracked and asked him what he was looking for.

‘A new stick. I promised the child.’ He halted again. ‘How far are we from the town?’

Willow looked back the way they had come. Nothing man-made was in sight in any direction. He could hear nothing but birds calling around their heads, the wind rushing through the branches and, somewhere, some creature rustling through the undergrowth.

‘I have no idea,’ he said.

‘Far enough, I think,’ said Dravoth. He breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. ‘It will be best if you do not make any sudden movements.’

Before Willow could make any response to this, Dravoth began a low hum, a noise that thrummed not outwards into the air but inwards, filling his body with energy. Goosebumps sprung up on Willow’s arms. He swore he could feel it vibrating through the earth. Dravoth’s mouth opened and he threw his head back, building in pitch until he reached something that could only be called a howl.

There was a moment of nothing. Willow could not move. The birds had been quieted. Then came the answer. Another howl, deeper and clearer than he could have thought possible. A great black wolf came out from between the trees, its paws making no sound, though its speed was rapid. Dravoth laughed and threw his arms around the wolf’s neck. The wolf nuzzled closer into him.

After some of this, Willow recovered enough to make an incoherent noise. Both Dravoth and the wolf turned to face him. The wolf’s shoulders stood level with Willow’s head and he couldn’t stop himself from taking a step back, his hand going to his sword. The wolf bared its teeth.

‘Peace, both of you,’ said Dravoth. He gestured between them. ‘Willow, this is Ollu. She was waiting for me.’ He rubbed the wolf between the ears. ‘Your forest here is deeper than it looks.’

‘You—she was waiting for you?’ managed Willow.

‘I was only going to be in that room for so long. My people belong under the sky. So do yours, though you’ve forgotten that.’ He murmured something unintelligible to Ollu, who loped back into the trees and was lost to sight.

‘Is she not coming with us?’ asked Willow. Now his brain was starting to function properly again, he was getting a lot of images of Dravoth atop the wolf, tearing through the undead ranks, axe and teeth dripping with gore. Having stared now into the deep eyes of both beast and rider, he had no clue how the humans had ever managed to get the better of the orcs.

‘Of course,’ said Dravoth.

‘Then where—’

But Willow was interrupted by the silent return of Ollu, now clutching something in her jaws. Dravoth made an exclamation of joy and took it from her, turning to display the item to Willow: a long and stout stick, its point already quite sharp where it had been broken off from a branch.

‘For the child,’ he said. Dravoth pulled out a knife that Willow didn’t know he was carrying, that he definitely hadn’t confiscated when putting him in the cell, and started to further sharpen the new spear.

Willow watched this smooth, easy action for some moments, wondering how he could interject, wondering what it was possible to say about any of the new developments that had assailed his life since he had woken up that morning. Ollu stared at him, but did not draw closer. It wasn’t long before Dravoth finished his work and looked at the spear with a satisfied smile. He nodded to himself and turned back to Willow.

‘Now,’ said Dravoth, ‘what was the other, less important thing you wanted to do in the forest?’


	4. Altar of Kings

Willow and Dravoth headed deeper into the forest, the wolf Ollu padding silently behind them. Willow had to stop himself from constantly checking over his shoulder to see if the beast was still there, or had vanished again, or had drawn closer. Whenever he did so, she was maintaining the same distance, and seemed to be watching him with something like amusement.

He knew where the old man’s hut was, having seen it a handful of times on patrols through the forest, but never having been inside or seen the old man himself. It wasn’t long before the hut came into sight between the trees, small and squat, made from the same wood as grew all around it. Moss and other small green plants sprouted from the roof. If Willow hadn’t known where to find it, it would have been easy enough to miss it entirely, blending in so perfectly with the trees.

Dravoth grunted approvingly. ‘A good home,’ he said.

Willow approached, intending to knock, but the door swung open when he was still out of reach. Out of the dark interior emerged an aged man, his blond hair and beard faded nearly to white. He bent to come through the doorway, but once straightened, it was clear he was taller than either of his visitors. The lines on his face were deep, though there was no uncertainty in his eyes. He sized up Willow, who immediately felt like an untried youth again, going through basic training. This was Balthasar, then. He coughed, then spoke.

‘You’d be the captain then,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Willow managed. ‘I’ve come to ask for your help.’

‘Huh,’ said Balthasar. His eyes flicked to Willow’s companions. ‘I don’t know that there’s room for the wolf inside.’

‘She’s happier out of doors,’ said Dravoth.

Balthasar nodded. ‘You’d better come in then.’

He ducked back inside to let them pass. Willow and then Dravoth stepped through the doorway. Willow stood for a moment, two steps past the threshold, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. Balthasar was moving about somewhere in the dark, his form blurring with the walls. Then he pulled something aside, a tanned animal skin, and the light of the forest swept into the hut.

The place was sparse, even by Willow’s standards. Looking around the one room house, he couldn’t see a single thing that didn’t have a practical use. Tools for surviving in the forest, for hunting and gathering, for keeping out the winter chill. A rough stone fireplace took up most of the wall opposite the door, and Balthasar was raking the coals and putting a kettle in place. Above the fireplace hung the great warhammer of a paladin. It was dusty, but seeing it still filled Willow with an emotion he couldn’t name. Awe, maybe, or the memory of being a child and seeing the paladins go by, like a drum starting up in his chest.

‘You’ll have to get logs from round back if you want something to sit on,’ said Balthasar. ‘Not used to guests.’

‘We won’t stay long,’ said Willow. ‘It’s just—’

‘There are undead,’ said Dravoth. ‘Coming up the pass to the town. We want your help.’

Balthasar was rummaging in his possessions. Eventually he held up most of a skinned rabbit in one hand.

‘Your friend outside might like this,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ said Dravoth. He trod through the door and, after a moment, Willow could hear the sound of teeth crunching through bone. Balthasar sat down on the bed, staring at the floor. He was still built like a bear, but Willow had to wonder how old he really was. Perhaps as high as sixty, and in this fading light the lines on the man’s face seemed more pronounced. There was silence in the hut until Dravoth returned.

‘Of course I’ll help,’ said Balthasar. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t?’ He looked up towards where the great hammer hung.

‘Is that weapon going to be too heavy for you, old one?’ asked Dravoth.

Balthasar gave a single note of laughter. ‘It was always heavy,’ he said. He rose slowly from the bed and looked around the hut. ‘Give me a moment. I need to gather some things.’

‘Of course,’ said Willow. ‘Thank you.’

He and Dravoth went to stand outside. Dravoth scratched Ollu between the ears, who was gnawing at a rabbit bone, pushing at the remnants of her meal with a paw.

‘You didn’t think it’d be that easy,’ said Dravoth.

‘I don’t know,’ said Willow. ‘I didn’t know what to expect.’

‘Old warriors like him, they prefer to find a good death. You’ve given him the best one he’s likely to ever see.’

Willow looked up at the trees. Dusk came sooner in the forest, but even beneath the branches he could tell that the light was fading fast. In that near-quiet, he fought rising panic. The undead, expecting no defence, would be more likely to attack under the cover of darkness. If that was the case, if it was even possible to predict the strategies of such creatures, then they didn’t have long.

‘Ollu and myself can go ahead, if you want,’ said Dravoth.

Willow opened his mouth and closed it again. He wasn’t sure how the townspeople would react to Dravoth without Willow himself there to ensure respect. Maybe the dead didn’t follow the usual ideas of warfare, maybe they had plenty of time. There were too many possibilities spiralling out in his head.

It was then that Balthasar emerged from his hut, dressed in the armour of a paladin, his hammer by his side. He tapped on his stomach.

‘It’s a little loose, these days, but it’ll serve,’ he said.

‘Going soft?’ asked Dravoth.

‘Not on your life,’ said Balthasar. ‘I could still knock you down, fast as a whip.’ He frowned. ‘I could probably get you to the nearest tribe, when this is done. If we don’t die.’

‘They’re gone.’

‘Dead? The Alliance doesn’t go in for massacring orcs, not for a long time.’

‘If you say so,’ said Dravoth. ‘But they’re gone. Warchief led them west, over the sea. Had a vision, was the word.’

‘You didn’t say,’ said Willow. The time that Dravoth had spent imprisoned in the town’s cell could have been spent making tracks west to the coast. Maybe with that extra time, he could have joined his people on whatever quest they were now on. But now the camps would be empty.

Dravoth shrugged. ‘What was there to say about it?’ He turned away and stroked Ollu’s back. She crouched lower to the ground and Dravoth hefted himself up onto her back. He looked at Balthasar from that new extra height, his face not moving. ‘You’ve spoken with orcs before.’

‘I did some guard duty on an internment camp, a long time ago,’ said Balthasar. ‘Never liked those places.’

‘And what did you do, with your dislike?’ asked Dravoth.

Balthasar held his gaze and said, ‘Nothing.’

‘Then what good was it?’ said Dravoth. He looked at Willow. ‘Say the word, Captain.’

Willow felt a rush of blood coming into his cheeks. A decision was expected of him. If only there was some way he could go back, order his people away from Dravoth instead of capturing him, or further back, reject the promotion to captain, not enlist in the forces at all, live out his life on his family’s farm, quiet and miserable like his father. And then, remembering that, he was back in the present, teeth grinding against each other, the drum inside him beating faster.

‘Go,’ he said.

And they went, Ollu loping through the trees, Dravoth hunched low over her back. In two heartbeats they were lost to sight. Balthasar started walking after them, at a much faster pace than Willow would have expected.

‘So, lad,’ said the paladin, not turning around as Willow jogged to catch up, ‘give me the situation. I know the town, of course, but it’s been a damned long time since I actually set foot in the place.’

And Willow told him as they walked. Told him about the things he’d seen at the base of the pass, how two of his people had already lost their lives. About the preparations he’d ordered to be made, the message he’d sent through the enemy lines. At this last, Balthasar shook his head.

‘Wouldn’t pin your hopes on a troop of knights riding over the horizon, with all their shiny buttons, and sticks firmly up their arses,’ he said. ‘You know about the path at the other end of the forest?’ He pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

Willow nodded. ‘Venkel told us.’

‘Venkel,’ said Balthasar. ‘Figures. Might want to talk to him, I reckon. Not much he doesn’t see.’

After a time, Willow asked, ‘You don’t think anyone will come?’

‘I don’t know, lad. I’ve been out of the loop for a long time. But the orcs on the move again, under one warchief, that’s enough to knock everything out of its comfortable little groove. And I doubt the dead are just rising here for us.’

‘We thought they wanted the mine,’ said Willow.

‘Makes sense,’ said Balthasar. ‘Even the dead need to build things. They make hideous things, buildings with all these little steps up all the sides. Doesn’t make any damn sense.’

‘You’ve fought them before?’

‘Here and there, little pockets of them. Nothing like this. From what you’re telling me, this is planned. An invasion.’

Willow ran this around in his head, imagining his own panic recurring across all the land, the same frantic preparations, all hoping for aid that might never come. Did that mean he’d sent the boy Nathaniel to his death? It was possible he would never know.

‘Where’s the path?’

‘Easy enough to find,’ said Balthasar. ‘Straight through the forest, bearing to the right, you’ll hit the cliff. Follow it along, you’ll find the path. Fits a person easily enough. A horse, maybe. No wagon, though.’

‘I’ll let them know.’ They moved through the forest without speaking for a few minutes. ‘So we just buy the townsfolk enough time to get what they can carry and get out,’ said Willow.

Balthasar grinned and walked faster. Some of the years seemed to have dropped away from his face.

‘Simple as that,’ he said.


	5. Stronghold

It was full dark by the time Willow and Balthasar emerged from the edge of the forest into the town. Usually the only lights were a warm glow from the tavern and the torches outside the mine, but that night the street blazed with light, torches lit at regular intervals. A greater light burned from around the corner, past where Willow could see, where the line of defence would be.

He broke into a run, but before he could reach the corner, Reldin appeared around it, his ginger beard stained with blood but a grin showing wide through it all.

‘A raider!’ he bellowed. ‘The orc’s a bloody raider!’ He threw his head back and sent his laughter up into the dark sky. Willow closed the distance between them, Balthasar close behind.

‘What happened? Are you injured?’ asked Willow.

‘Just a scratch, captain,’ said Reldin. Others came around the corner, members of the loose militia that had formed in Willow’s absence. Miners and other residents of the town, armed with handaxes, cudgels, long knives, and makeshift spears. A couple had sustained minor wounds, but the majority looked unscathed. At their head was Elliot, the mine foreman, a pickaxe in hand, shaking his head with wonder.

‘Never seen anything like it, captain, in all my days,’ he said.

‘A beast!’ said Reldin. ‘The orc’s a beast! If the dead can feel fear, by everything that’s holy, they felt it then.’ He made an incoherent noise of excitement, looked around at everyone, then said, ‘Bloody hell, I need a drink,’ and went into the tavern.

‘Can someone tell me what happened?’ asked Willow.

‘The dead came up the hill sooner after dark,’ said Elliot. ‘Just a few of them, but we weren’t ready. If we’d gotten the barricades done sooner—’

‘If you hadn’t dithered over your precious planks, you mean,’ said Tabitha, his wife, approaching from around the corner. She gestured to Willow. ‘Best come and see for yourself, captain.’

The rest of the militia dispersed, a muttering Elliot following Reldin into the tavern. Willow and Balthasar followed Tabitha up to the end of the street and around the corner. Just a short distance from there, where the town ended and the pass began to slope down, stood a rapidly thickening barricade. Lit by more than a dozen torches, crates, barrels, and sharpened logs were being organised into a thick wall, a wall that could be accessed by more crates arranged into steps at the rear, the logs pointing out at the front to prevent any foe leaping over. And there, in the centre of the commotion, was Dravoth, his wolf by his side, directing the townsfolk as if he’d commanded them for years.

Tabitha stopped a distance back from the swirl of activity and gestured down the hill.

‘Elliot’s a fool,’ she said. ‘Apparently the wood he uses came special, cost an arm and a leg to haul up here in the first place.’ She sniffed. ‘Barricade would have been stronger, if not for him. Drugen and Browning came running up the hill, those… things coming after them. Like a rotting corpse that’s had something done to it.’

‘Dark magics, lass,’ said Balthasar.

Tabitha looked at him hard and he took a step back. She carried on. ‘They’re fast. Browning is not. One of them clawed into his legs, more coming up behind, looked like he was done for.’ She stared for a moment at the other townsfolk. ‘Like we were all done for.’ She shook her head. ‘None of us heard him coming. Just a flash over our heads and there he was.’

Dravoth caught sight of them then, and approached.

‘Ah, captain,’ he said. ‘I managed to deliver the child her new stick. She deemed it worthy.’

‘Um, that’s good,’ said Willow.

‘The dead seem to die if you cut off their heads,’ added Dravoth, ‘or tear them into small pieces. The big man with the moustache, his leg is injured, but he will live. We lost nobody else.’

‘Good,’ said Willow. Together they stepped forward to examine the defences. Already the barricade towered higher than Willow’s head, and he stepped up on a crate to see over. There were the streaks of blood and pieces of the undead that marked the scene of the battle he had missed. Despite being just a series of disconnected limbs, their presence still unnerved him. He leaned forward and the crate wobbled under his feet.

‘We noticed that,’ said Dravoth. ‘Someone is retrieving nails from the mine. We can make it all one solid piece.’

Willow nodded. Down the hill, the light of the torches quickly reached the end of their power, and the rest of the slope was in darkness. They would not know something was coming for them until it emerged out of that black. And something would emerge. He looked at the pieces of undead and tried to calculate how many whole corpses they would have made.

‘How many?’ he had to ask. He couldn’t keep track of all the long claws and jutting jawbones. There also seemed to be too many ribs.

‘Ten or so,’ said Dravoth. ‘The dwarves shot a couple before I got here.’

‘There’ll be more next time,’ said Willow. ‘Now they know we’re ready for them.’

He turned slowly around, surveying the rest of the barricade and the town behind it. Drugen was calmly sharpening a thick branch to a point. The woodcutter brothers, Karstan and Josef, were approaching with armloads of more branches. Venkel had a small group gathered around him, where he was instructing them in proper spear-fighting methods. He caught Willow’s eye and flashed a quick grin, before breaking off to berate someone’s technique.

‘No!’ he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. ‘Higher, higher, you fools, you’ll never have someone’s eye out otherwise.’

Laria came out of the nearest house and, seeing Willow, quickly approached. He came down from the barricade to meet her. Dravoth remained above, keeping a steady eye on the path.

‘You heard what happened?’ asked Laria. There was blood on her hands and she caught Willow looking. ‘I was trying to help Browning, but healing’s not my area.’

‘I might be able to rustle up something for him,’ said Balthasar. He mumbled something under his breath. ‘Been a long time, but I think I can remember the way the magic goes.’ He ambled into the house.

‘You found him then,’ said Laria, watching him go. ‘And a wolf into the bargain.’ Ollu the wolf in question was nearby, by a stack of barrels, apparently having a nap. But as Willow looked at her, one of her eyes flicked slowly open, fixed on him for a moment, then closed again.

‘Sorry for the lack of warning,’ said Willow. ‘I was worried, I sent them on ahead for—’

Laria waved a hand. ‘You did the right thing. Best kind of surprise. Boosted his reputation as well. Wouldn’t be surprised if Reldin starts writing him a song.’

‘Did you get the boy out?’ asked Willow.

‘Oh, yes! Sorry, all that’s happened, I’d almost forgotten. I got him as close as I could before I used the spell, but’—she smiled suddenly—‘he might not need it. He can move quiet when he’s a mind to. Reminds me of my little brother. Something in the way he, um, navigates the world.’

‘Huh,’ said Willow. He’d thought the same thing about the boy and his own younger brother, but never consciously, never wanted to linger on it. Maybe that was why Nathaniel raised such a combination of fondness and fury in him. He wished he had time to express this, but there was so much else he needed to talk about.

He looked around for further assistance in spreading the word about the path through the forest and the need to evacuate, but everyone else seemed to be involved in some other essential task. He quickly gave Laria the same directions Balthasar had given him. They split the town between, taking one side of the street each, going house to house and letting people know to get their things together and be ready to leave, possibly in the morning, possibly tonight.

Willow’s route took him into the entrance of the mine, talking to the workers there, heaving up barrels of explosives they said could rolled down the hill to explode in the midst of any invading force. He passed on the news and one miner waved it away.

‘We took care of those undead no problem,’ he said. ‘More soldiers will show up before things get too bad.’

‘I don’t know,’ said another miner. ‘You weren’t out there when those things came up the hill. I thought that was it.’ He stood back and dusted his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I gotta tell my wife to start packing.’ He headed up the tunnel back to the town. Willow watched him go, then turned to the remaining miners.

‘You need an extra hand with this?’ he asked.

‘Be a lot easier without that armour,’ said the first miner.

Willow shook his head. ‘Could be an attack any moment,’ he said.

The miner shrugged and tossed Willow a rope. Together the group hauled the pallet of barrels out of the mine, their movements slow and smooth to keep the explosives from jostling. Back in the open air again, Willow took his helmet off and wiped the sweat off his brow. The barricade was still in view, townsfolk dotted over it, hammering its various sections together. Willow took a few deep breaths, then continued on his way.

A few houses and few more warnings later brought him to the tavern. Still with his helmet under his arm, he pressed the doors open and entered. He gave the by now usual spiel and discovered the word had spread ahead of him. Reldin was sitting on the bar, a tankard in his hand that was clearly not his first, telling again the story of how Dravoth had saved them all, a tale now lengthened significantly with embellishments. Willow was pretty sure that Ollu wasn’t capable of breathing fire, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

On his way out he ran into a tired looking woman he recognised but didn’t know by name. She was, he knew, Violet’s mother. She looked back the way she had come with a rueful smile.

‘No way of taking that stick off her now,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Willow, ‘I should have—’

‘No, don’t you dare apologise, captain,’ said Violet’s mother. ‘The—I’m sorry now, I don’t know his—the orc’s name.’

‘Dravoth,’ said Willow.

‘Dravoth. Well, he’d still be locked up if it wasn’t for you, and we’d all be dead. And Violet’s certainly safer with that weapon, even if it does scare me.’ She was of a height with Willow and could look straight in his eyes in a way that made him have no idea what to say. He was sure his ears were turning red.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, ‘I don’t know what your name is.’

The woman laughed. ‘It’s Alice,’ she said. ‘But I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘Of course,’ said Willow.

‘We’re all getting ready to leave, and we know where to go, but we’d like Dravoth to guide us through.’

‘You should be safe, if you stick together. We never did find any trolls, remember.’

‘I know,’ said Alice. ‘But there are other things in the forest, and people are scared. Everything’s so different, we don’t know what’s going to happen anymore. I’d ask him myself, but—’

But getting over decades of fear wasn’t something that could be turned off like pulling a lever. Willow nodded. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he said. ‘Get everybody together at the edge of town.’

‘Thank you, captain,’ said Alice, smiling at him with relief. ‘I’d better get back before Violet decides she wants a sword next.’ She turned and was about to go when a yell went up from the barricade. All heads spun in that direction. Willow jammed his helmet on and started to run.

By the time he rounded the corner, more people were running with him. He scrambled up onto the barricade and found himself beside Dravoth, looking down the hill at the place where the light met the dark. There, just at the edge of what could be seen, crawled rows of pale claws and teeth, heaving and chittering. Waiting for some final instruction from whatever intelligence commanded them.

‘Bring up a barrel,’ said Dravoth.

Behind him the townspeople lifted one of the explosive barrels to the edge of the barricade. With a rope they lowered it down to the other side, resting on the surface of the path. Then it was a simple matter of letting go. Drugen and Reldin were both nearby, rifles at the ready. Reldin burped loudly.

‘You wanna take the shot?’ he asked.

‘You’re drunk,’ said Drugen.

‘Can still shooter straighter than you and all your ancestors,’ said Reldin.

‘Both of you take the shot,’ said Willow. ‘But not yet.’

A grunt behind him caused him to turn and help Balthasar up the final step to stand with them. The old paladin stared evenly down the path, leaning on his great hammer.

‘Ghouls,’ he said. ‘If you’re waiting to the see the whites of their eyes, lad, I’m not sure they’ve got any.’

It was then that the dead moved. Up the hill, bent double, filling the width of the path, more and more out of the dark. Cries of terror and fear ran along the barricade. Willow swung to Drugen and Reldin.

‘Wait until it’s in the middle of them,’ he said.

‘Course, captain,’ said Reldin. Drugen just nodded.

Willow gave the signal to release the barrel. It rolled down, slowly at first, then gathering speed as it drew closer to the undead. Once it bounced high enough that Willow’s heart lurched in his chest, sure that it was going to explode too early. But it landed and rolled on, slamming into the first ghoul without pause. That ghoul rose, snapped its neck back into place, and carried on with the climb. The barrel continued its path through the thick of the undead.

‘Now,’ said Reldin. Drugen’s finger was already closing on his trigger.

The barrel exploded, a great burst of fire, the wave of heat reaching all the way back up to the barricade. The closest undead were simply incinerated, while most of the others in sight were blown outwards from the blast, on fire or in pieces. A cheer went up from the defenders.

The dregs not caught by the explosion were quickly mopped up by rifles, bows, or being impaled on spears, if they managed to reach the barricade itself. Willow’s heart rested a little easier. His sword was in his hand, but he didn’t remember drawing it. The whole world seemed to have narrowed to just the barricade beneath him and the lit path beyond it.

Then a figure emerged from the darkness, a figure like the ones Willow remembered seeing on his trip to the base of the mountain. A figure with fallow skin, in ragged robes, with eyes that gleamed with sickly green light. The necromancer lifted a staff and there was a noise like the rattling of dice in a cup as the bones scattered across the path shuddered, were drawn to each other, and reformed.

Held together by some dark power, the dead walked yet again, in different and only vaguely human forms. They moved slower, creaking and rattling as they came, but still they came. There seemed to be more of them than before. Bullets and arrows could not make more than a dent in such a force, and soon they were climbing up the barricade, hands of bone reaching for those on the barricade.

Spears jabbed at them from above, and Willow hammered down at the nearest with the bottom of his shield, but there were too many for them to hold for long. Beside him, Balthasar cursed and raised his hammer.

‘Might want to close your eyes,’ he growled.

Something thrummed through the air around the paladin. The necromancer staggered back, then burst in a bright flash of white light. Blinking hard, the light lingering in his field of vision, Willow saw there was only a dark stain where the figure in robes had stood, and the reformed skeletons had collapsed into dust. Relief and nervous laughter echoed down the barricade.

Balthasar leaned heavily on his hammer. He groaned and wiped away the blood that seeped from his nose. He looked like he was about to collapse, and both Willow and Dravoth moved closer, propping the old man up on both sides. He shook his head.

‘Don’t know how many more times I can do that one,’ he said. They eased him down into a seated position. He coughed wetly. ‘Fucking necromancers. Head of the snake, you know? Head of the snake.’

The defenders were silent, most eyes peering down into that now familiar darkness, watching for anything that could be movement. But nothing did move. Nothing moved, and the hours that remained in the night dragged on. The line on the barricade thinned as many townsfolk went to help families with packing and moving out, or simply to sleep. Willow, urged by Laria and Dravoth both, did the same, dozing in the garrison, turning restlessly for a couple of hours.

Eventually the pale light of morning reached his bunk. He put his armour back on, his muscles slow with tiredness, and trod outside into the town. The air was cold, but he inhaled deeply and felt his eyes open wider, trying to shrug off the urge to sleep.

A group of people was forming at the edge of town, people with bulging sacks over their shoulders, holding their children close. Dravoth was there, speaking to the group in low tones that Willow could not hear from where he was. He went instead to check on the barricade.

And so it was that he was looking in exactly the right place to see a small hand poke up from a bush at the side of the path, and hear a hissed plea not to shoot. The rest of a body followed, darting up the hill. And so it was that the boy Nathaniel returned to the town.


	6. Inner Fire

It was like this everywhere, the boy told them. He hadn’t gone far, but he hadn’t needed to. The nearest large town was a flaming wreck. Farms were abandoned, the roads dotted with bodies, the very earth made grey and lifeless under the feet of the foul undead.

The news from the heart of the Alliance was bleaker still. The beloved Prince Arthas had gone rogue, or mad, or some combination of the two. After an unexplained mission to the icy land of Northrend, he had returned and butchered his own father in the throne room.

Now kingless, what was left of the Alliance was united under a figure familiar to those who thrived on gossip from the capital: Jaina Proudmoore. She was leading a force of humans west across the sea, in search of a way to defeat the undead, or simply a land free from them. Another captain that Nathaniel had met on the road had told him to keep in small groups, avoid the roads, and make for the fleet that was forming on the west coast.

This tale, in one form or another, quickly spread through the town. Willow told Dravoth to wait for a moment before setting out through the forest, and called all those who still remained in the town to the barricade. Willow sat on the top level, turning his helmet over in his hands, as the people gathered. Dravoth stood beside him, watching the mountain pass. Once it seemed as if no more were coming, Willow stood.

‘This is the time to leave,’ he said. ‘You’ve heard what Nathaniel said. We hoped help would come, and it hasn’t. We hoped it wasn’t like this everywhere else, and it is. I wish I could offer you someplace safe to go.’

‘Jaina Proudmoore’s a powerful mage, they say,’ said Laria.

Willow nodded. He wondered if that would be enough. ‘If you want to leave with the others, Dravoth will guide you through the forest to the path. Wherever you go after that, I wish to see you all again, in some other life.’ He smiled. ‘I thought we didn’t have much here, but I was wrong.’

‘Couldn’t have done it without you, lad,’ said Balthasar.

‘You could have,’ said Willow. ‘But thank you. What I can promise is this: those of us who choose to stay will buy you as much time as we can. And those of you who were under my official command should consider yourselves free from it.’ He looked down at Laria, Drugen, Reldin, and Browning, all that remained of his garrison. ‘If you want to go, I understand.’

Reldin spat between his feet. ‘Like hell, captain,’ he said. ‘Let’s show them dead what real pain is.’

* * *

It was late morning by the time Dravoth led the evacuees through the forest. It was a long time since he’d been part of such a large group, and never at the head of one. Axe drawn and Ollu scouting ahead, he kept a slow but steady pace between the trees, knowing that most of the townsfolk were loaded down with all the possessions they could carry.

He knew that with just Ollu and himself, him crouched low on her back, the wind rushing through her fur and his hair, they could have covered the distance in mere moments. But he had promised the captain he would see them as far as the path down. Still, he kept a ways ahead of them, always in sight but never close enough to talk to, never turning around longer than necessary to check they were still following, not falling behind.

As Balthasar had explained, the route was simple enough. From the town, bearing to the right, the forest butted up against a sheer wall of rock, the side of the mountain stretching yet higher, too steep and solid for even the hardiest of plants to take root. Dravoth ran his hand along that hard surface and thought about how many would die if an enemy caught them unawares, backed up against that wall with nowhere to go.

He caught something on the breeze, a familiar scent that made his brows crease with thought. He growled and an answering call came back from Ollu as she went to investigate. Making such an inhuman noise made the humans behind him quieten down for a time. He kept his face forward, suppressing a smile.

It wasn’t long before the trees grew more spaced and the breeze was stronger. Then the edge of the forested plateau was before them. A cliff edge you could stand on and look out over what once would have been thick green forests to the horizon. Dravoth had never known that, in his lifetime. Then came the humans and their farmlands, turning the wilderness into neat squares, a patchwork of green and brown, the forests contained into manageable segments. Now it was all fuel for the undead. Smoke rose from a dozen places in view, and whole tracts of land were black after the passage of fire or grey from the passage of the undead. Either way, it was the end of life.

To the right was the path. Wide enough that two people could walk abreast, if they were careful. Dravoth stood back and let the people pass. Some pretended he wasn’t there. Others thanked him quietly. The only ones to look him in the eyes were the last: the girl Violet and her mother Alice, and a limping Browning, bringing up the rear.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ said Alice.

Dravoth looked away. ‘It was the right thing to do,’ he said.

Alice followed his gaze, staring out at the columns of smoke and scars on the land.

‘I may have only postponed your death,’ added Dravoth.

‘We’ll be okay,’ said Violet, grabbing her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve got my stick.’ She frowned up at Dravoth. ‘You don’t have a stick. Will you be okay?’

‘I’ve got this,’ said Dravoth, holding up his axe. Violet narrowed her eyes like she wasn’t convinced. Her mother rustled her hair.

‘Alright, come on,’ said Alice. ‘We’ll have a snack when we get to the bottom, okay?’

‘Will it be cheese?’ asked Violet.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

The pair of them moved down the path. Dravoth held out a hand to stop Browning following them. The knight glared at him and barked out, ‘What?’

‘Is that the last of them?’

‘How the fuck should I know?’ said Browning.

‘Don’t know how we’ll manage without you,’ said Dravoth, and walked back into the forest. He retraced the path the evacuees had used, now well-trodden enough to be obvious to anyone seeking to follow them, but he couldn’t find any stragglers. The smell of human was largely gone from his nostrils, but that other scent remained. Ollu came out from between the trees and confirmed his suspicions.

‘Trolls, huh? Let’s go have a talk with them.’

* * *

After Dravoth left, Willow took stock of what defenders remained. Browning had left without a backwards glance, but the rest of his garrison still remained.

‘Don’t have a lot of bullets left, captain,’ said Reldin, ‘but we’ll make them count.’

‘Likewise with the arrows,’ said Laria. She waggled her fingers. ‘But I got a few tricks up my sleeves.’

The rest made up a small force, true, but still he felt he’d never been more proud. Balthasar and Venkel, sitting beside each other on barrels in companionable silence. Karstan and Josef, once lumber workers, now trading friendly blows with their new spears, their hefty timber axes leaning ready nearby. Tabitha, fitting a new string to her bow. And, to Willow’s surprise, her husband Elliot, and the boy Nathaniel.

As people had been making their goodbyes, Elliot had approached Willow, looking like he’d been crying. He said Nathaniel had told him what he’d seen and he, Elliot, would be damned if he’d let the undead have one piece of all the work he’d put into the mine over the long years it had been under his authority. Better to see it destroyed first. Which is what he and his son were now arranging, toting in all the explosives they had and rigging them to be set off all at once.

In the quiet after this announcement, Balthasar approached Willow on the barricade and they leaned for a while in silence, looking down the pass as the sun rose to its peak.

‘You think the orc’ll come back?’ he asked.

The possibility that he wouldn’t had honestly not occurred to Willow, and maybe his expression showed that.

‘Don’t think I would, if I was in his place,’ added Balthasar.

Willow wasn’t sure what to think. Dravoth had agreed to lead the evacuees through the forest when there was no clear reason to do so other than genuinely being interested in their safety, or else as a personal favour to Willow. But maybe the real reason had been that Dravoth could just as easily take that path down the mountain as well, and leave the defenders behind, always hoping for a reinforcement that would never come.

If he thought logically, went over the time he’d spent with Dravoth, carefully considered what he knew of the orc’s character, Willow knew he ought to have no doubts. But still, now the idea was planted in him, he could not entirely dispose of it. Drugen came by with food for everybody that he’d scrounged from the now empty tavern. Balthasar waited until they were both finished eating before speaking again.

‘Good idea there with the mine,’ he said. ‘Be better if we could crush them bastards flat in the one move.’

Willow thought this over. ‘Then someone would have to lure the undead into the mine. They’d be crushed as well. I couldn’t ask anyone to do that.’

‘You don’t have to ask, lad,’ said Balthasar. ‘I’m volunteering.’

All of Willow’s objections came out at once in an incoherent noise. He coughed and tried again. ‘You don’t have to do that. We’ll find another way.’

‘Maybe there is another way. But if there isn’t, that’s how it’ll be. No use arguing. Besides, you said none of us were under your command anymore.’

Willow managed a smile. ‘Too late to take that back, isn’t it?’

Balthasar clapped a hand on Willow’s shoulder. ‘Aye, and I’d ignore it either way.’ He looked not down the path but straight out, off the edge of the mountain and out where they ought to be able to see the world beyond, if there weren’t trees blocking their view. ‘I wouldn’t last out there, on the run,’ he added. ‘I chose this spot as a place to die. Nice and quiet. None of them stinking courtly types telling you your beard isn’t shaved neatly enough.’ He met Willow’s eyes. ‘I’ll not let those creatures rob me of my chosen grave.’

There was little Willow could say to that. They shook hands, and Willow watched as Balthasar walked up to the mine and disappeared through its opening, down into the earth. As Willow was watching in that direction, Dravoth and Ollu appeared from around the corner. They greeted the defenders, and Dravoth climbed up the barricade to stand next to Willow. He noticed Dravoth was missing the large sword that was usually slung across his back.

‘They all got to the path no problem,’ said Dravoth. His eyes were riveted to the pass, as if waiting for something specific to appear.

‘Wasn’t sure if you’d come back,’ said Willow.

Dravoth’s eyes flicked to him for a moment. ‘Where else is there to go?’ He gestured down the hill, where a column of smoke was beginning to rise into view. ‘There it goes.’

‘What is that?’ asked Willow.

‘There were trolls in the forest,’ said Dravoth. ‘They were heading out, climbing down the mountain where humans can’t. I convinced them to do some sabotage on their way through. Might buy us a little more time.’

Willow found himself laughing. Dravoth looked at him with amusement in his eyes and waited for an explanation.

‘The boy, he said there were trolls. We looked, but didn’t find anything. He was right about them too. Maybe he was right about everything.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dravoth. ‘They were part of the horde once, the trolls.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Willow.

‘We remember. I just had to hope they did too.’

‘You gave them your sword.’

Dravoth grunted affirmation. ‘Always something for something.’ He stretched his wide arms and yawned. ‘Did I miss anything?’

‘We’re going to blow up the mine.’

Now it was Dravoth who laughed. ‘Maybe the orcs got it wrong,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’re all just as crazy as us.’


	7. Slaughterhouse

The last calm conversation Willow had in the town turned out to be with Tabitha, out the front of the mine, that same afternoon. She approached him with her bow in her hand and a frown on her face.

‘You know Browning left his horse here?’ she said. ‘That man’s a real piece of garbage.’

The corners of Willow’s mouth twitched. ‘The horse had a similar opinion,’ he said.

‘Huh,’ said Tabitha. ‘I’ll talk to her then.’

They turned at footsteps from within the mine and saw Elliot, Nathaniel, and Balthasar coming out to join them. The three of them were stained with dirt and sweat.

‘All rigged up and ready to blow, captain,’ said Elliot. He turned to Balthasar, his voice immediately less certain. ‘And remember what I told you about the air shaft.’

‘Aye, lad, I remember,’ said Balthasar. He grinned at Willow. ‘The good news is I might not die. Let me go wash up ’fore the action starts.’ He wandered down to the house nearest the barricade, which the defenders had taken to using for food and water and rest. The old occupant certainly wasn’t around any longer to protest about Reldin putting his feet up on the table.

‘You’ll be going then,’ said Tabitha. There was a moment of silence. Neither Elliot nor Nathaniel offered any contradiction. The boy came forward and hugged his mother. ‘Alright, alright,’ she said, pulling herself away. ‘I’ll catch up with you.’

‘What if you don’t?’ asked Nathaniel.

Tabitha shrugged. Her fingers trailed briefly down her son’s cheek. ‘Then remember: your father is always wrong and you should argue with him at every opportunity.’

‘Really?’ said Elliot. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

‘I know,’ said Tabitha. ‘Take care of our son.’

Elliot sighed and nodded. Tabitha smiled at Nathaniel, then turned and walked to the garrison, in search of Browning’s horse. She did not look back. Willow went with the father and son to the edge of town. Shaded under those trees, he thanked them for what they’d done.

‘And I apologise,’ he added. ‘I should have believed you.’

Nathaniel looked at his feet. ‘S’okay,’ he said. ‘I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.’

Later, Willow would think of what he’d wanted to say, of all the things he should have said to each of the townsfolk. Arrange them all in a giant circle and go around, giving them the thanks and farewell that they deserved. But then, in the moment, none of them had any more words. They shook hands and parted.

The attack came less than an hour later. The ten defenders that remained manned the barricade, raining arrows and bullets and spears down on the waves of ghouls that came up the hill. At first it seemed straightforward enough, a mere repetition of what they’d done previously. There was sweat, and their supplies were very low, and there was blood, as some ghouls made it high enough up the barricade to slash with their vicious claws. The line held and they believed in their ability to hold it for longer.

But then something else lumbered up the hill, something that Willow had barely glimpsed when he had peered through the bushes the undead base, an eternity ago. A massive creature that looked as if it had been stitched together from human body parts, its huge bulk giving it difficulty as it came up the hill, but still making steady progress. From one of its too many hands it hefted a massive cleaver; in another a great metal hook. The defenders paused in horror. It was Drugen that spoke first.

‘Sidney and Atterton, do you think they’re—’

Willow wanted to throw up. Josef and Reldin both did, leaning over the barricade to do so. Willow gave the order to fire. Arrows and bullets slammed into the creature, but did little to slow its advance. Balthasar raised his hammer and sent his blazing holy light at it, and though the creature staggered, it kept coming. Balthasar coughed blood and leaned heavily on the barricade.

‘Hang on,’ said Laria, her fingers poised in front of her. ‘I’m not sure if it’ll work on something that big, but—’

The creature lumbered closer to the barricade, its weapons raised, its too-wide mouth emitting a strained groan. Sweat was running down Laria’s brow, but she didn’t pause to wipe it away. Her hands stretched forward, emitting a warm golden light. It shot at the creature, enveloped it, and for a moment the creature itself could not be seen within the light. Then it cleared, and in its place was a sheep. It was of regular dimensions and colours and had all the qualities that Willow would normally associate with a sheep. It also seemed very confused, but it was hard to tell if that was anything other than the usual facial expression of a sheep.

‘So now I gotta kill this sheep,’ said Reldin. Before he’d finished the sentence, Drugen shot the sheep in the head. It slumped to the dirt, its lifeblood flowing down the slope. The defenders collectively exhaled.

‘Nice bit of spellwork, lass,’ said Balthasar. Laria was grinning.

‘I really didn’t think—I mean, it’s the same principle, just allowing for the difference in scale,’ she said. ‘There was no reason that it shouldn’t have worked, but magic doesn’t always make sense like that.’

A further groaning sound turned their eyes again down the pass, to the appearance of three more of the creatures, along with dozens of swarming ghouls.

‘Now that’s not fair at all,’ said Reldin.

Willow stared for a second at that rising horde. ‘Any barrels of explosives left?’ he asked.

Balthasar shook his head. ‘All down in the mine, lad.’

‘Time to go then.’

He leapt down from the barricade and most of the other defenders followed suit. Only Drugen and Reldin remained up top, still laying down delaying fire at the undead.

‘I’ll draw them into the mine,’ said Balthasar, already treading in that direction. ‘Wave my hammer, insult their mothers, that sort of thing.’

Willow nodded. ‘The rest of you, get out of here.’

Karstan and Josef, keeping together, picked up their packs from where they had left them, and headed for the forest. Laria, Dravoth, and Ollu stuck close to Willow as he moved up towards the mine and the street corner with Balthasar.

Tabitha raced to where she had tied the reins of Browning’s horse nearby, loosed them, and slipped easily up onto the horse’s back. ‘Anybody want a ride?’ she asked. As she rotated the horse, reins in one hand and her bow in the other, Willow got a sudden rising feeling that their roles ought to have been reversed. It was him that ought to have lived an unsung life in a remote town, and her that ought to have commanded not just a garrison, but legions.

‘If you’ll have me,’ said Venkel, casting aside his bundle of spears. With a helping hand, he was soon sitting on the horse behind Tabitha. She passed him her bow.

‘Shoot anything that gets too close behind,’ she said.

‘With pleasure,’ said Venkel. Then they were away, hooves hammering the street towards the forest, Venkel raising a hand in farewell.

‘No goodbyes, lad,’ said Balthasar, when Willow turned to him. ‘May the strength in your arms and your heart never fail you.’

‘And yours,’ said Willow. He turned to yell at Drugen and Reldin to get down from the barricade before it was too late, but the ghouls were already surging up and over into the town. Reldin, swinging the butt of his rifle at anything in range, was soon lost to sight under a wave of undead. Drugen was faster, leaping down from the barricade and walking backwards through the town, still levelling his rifle at the ghouls cresting towards him, every shot finding its place.

‘Through the garrison, the back path,’ said Laria, working a spell between her hands. ‘Might buy us some more time.’

Dravoth growled at Ollu, who surged forward towards the undead. Laria launched an invisibility spell, casting its net to include herself, Willow, and Dravoth. The trio, now unseen, hurried towards the garrison, seeing as they went Ollu leaping over Drugen’s head and scattering the undead bearing down on him.

‘Get on, dwarf!’ bellowed the disembodied voice of Dravoth.

There was just time to see Drugen jump for Ollu before Willow, Dravoth, and Laria burst into the garrison, the invisibility spell fading to reveal the three of them breathing heavily. Laria rushed for her pack, apologising that she couldn’t hold the spell for longer.

‘You kept us alive,’ said Dravoth. ‘Never apologise for that.’

A dark blur went past the doorway, as Ollu carried Drugen out of the town. They could hear Balthasar’s great bellowing voice calling to the undead, sons of whores that they were, to come and take him if they could. His voice faded and echoed as he went down into the mine.

For all their efforts at distraction, still a ghoul leapt through the door, knocking Dravoth onto his back, his axe flying from his hand. Two more came through, pushing Willow back from going to his friend’s aid. Their claws battered on his shield. One was slowed by a spell from Laria at the rear door, its movements suddenly sluggish, moving as if the air had been turned to treacle. Willow went for its throat as Laria got an arrow to her bow.

Still there was not enough time to help Dravoth. All the power in his muscles seemed not enough to hold back the unholy strength of the ghoul, whose long jaws full of teeth came for his throat.

Then a small figure rose from behind a table, driving a very long and very pointy stick through the open mouth of the ghoul. Dravoth kicked the spasming creature aside and rolled upright to behold Violet, still clutching the weapon he had given her.

‘I told you, you need a stick,’ she said.

‘And I should have listened to you, little one,’ he said. ‘Wait a moment.’ He fetched his axe and together he and Willow dispatched the last ghoul in the barracks. Then he swept Violet up into the crook of his free arm and hurried for the back door. Laria was ahead of him, already moving down the narrow back path, an arrow poised in her bow.

Willow was the last out of the garrison. There was no impulse to linger. Everything he cared about was already running ahead of him. His only valuable possessions were already on his back and in his hands. He ran after the others, constantly turning his head to check behind them, but no undead raced after them down the path.

In seconds they were under the trees, bodies bent low as they ran, constantly scratched with branches and brambles but never slowing their headlong rush. They did pause once, when there was a great booming sound and the earth shook beneath their feet. The birds rose from the branches above them, the cries echoing all around. They glanced at each other in silence, knowing the old paladin was in all their thoughts. Then they kept running.


	8. Crypt

Deeper into the forest they ran. Somewhere among the trees they encountered Tabitha atop the horse, with Alice riding behind. She dismounted clumsily and raced to take her proffered daughter from Dravoth’s arms.

‘We stopped to rest,’ said Alice, ‘and I’m not sure, I must have dozed off, because I opened my eyes and she was gone. You saved her life.’

‘She saved mine,’ said Dravoth. He looked Violet in the eyes. ‘Now we are even, little one.’ The girl nodded solemnly.

Together the now slightly larger group continued on through the forest, Tabitha riding at the front. There was little said between them. Violet asked for food, and Laria retrieved fried bread from her pack and passed it around, the child taking the largest share.

At the top of the path off the mountain they met others waiting there. Venkel, still wielding Tabitha’s bow that was larger than him, and Drugen, scratching Ollu between the ears. There were a few greetings, but if they hadn’t known how dire their circumstances were, the view out of the land they would have to cross to get to the coast, that vista of death, silenced them all. There was a pause then and they all lingered there, reluctant to break away for any reason.

‘You should go,’ said Willow. ‘We don’t know if they’ll come after us.’

Tabitha nodded and dismounted, leading the horse carefully down the path. Alice thanked everybody again, then hurried after her, Violet still in her arms.

Venkel spat over the cliff edge and leaned to watch it fall. ‘Could’ve been worse, captain,’ he said. ‘Could’ve been a lot worse.’ He looked after those who had already departed. ‘Suppose Tabitha will want her bow back.’ He trod down the path.

Drugen hefted his rifle in both hands. ‘Don’t know why I’m still carrying this,’ he said. ‘Haven’t got any bullets left.’

‘You’ll have to learn how to use a sword,’ said Dravoth. ‘Think you can handle that?’

The corners of Drugen’s mouth twitched. ‘Seems simple enough,’ he said. He shifted his rifle to a vertical position, barrel to the sky, and leaned on it. ‘You going to wait, captain?’

Willow nodded. Someone had to, he thought, just to make sure they had no pursuers, and it wasn’t a task he would ask of anyone else. Not after all the sacrifices they’d made already.

‘Reckon I won’t be much use without ammo,’ said Drugen. He looked away. ‘Reckon I’ve never known a finer bunch of fighters.’ He trod down the path without another word.

Dravoth looked after him. ‘Longest conversation we’ve ever had,’ he said.

‘You should join them,’ said Willow to Laria. ‘They could use your help.’

‘We’re going the same way,’ she said. ‘You can catch up with us.’

‘And I will,’ said Willow, though he didn’t believe it. ‘I want to see this through.’

She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Soon, then,’ she said. ‘It’s not even a goodbye.’

Willow smiled, and Laria hurried after Drugen. Soon Willow could hear their voices echoing back up to where remained just himself, Dravoth, and Ollu, who sniffed the air and paced along the edge of the cliff.

‘Could I convince you to go too?’ he asked Dravoth.

‘You could not.’

And so they waited. The day dragged into night, and the three of them slept in shifts, always at least one pair of eyes searching through the trees for movement, ears strained for the ravenous sounds of the undead. The fires on the plain seemed to burn brighter after the sun had fallen.

They waited through until dawn, though no undead came bursting from the trees, hard on the trail of that flesh that had escaped their endless hunger. Willow took one last look through the dark trunks and said that maybe that was long enough. Dravoth agreed. Together they went slowly down the path, keeping pace with each other, Ollu ranging ahead but never out of sight for very long. As time went on, Willow found her absence caused him alarm, and only when she reappeared from around a corner could he let the tension ease from his shoulders.

They camped again at the base of the path, where the stone faded to soft earth and the view of the devastation ahead of them was blocked by a thicket of trees. The other refugees had all passed on, but there were the coals of a fire that could be rekindled, and Ollu hunted up some rabbits for them. Again they waited, again they kept watch, and again there were no undead.

As they journeyed across that broken land, the need for words became futile. Off the roads, away from the towns, they moved mostly in silence. Scrounging or hunting meagre fare, making camp in out of the way corners. However much they removed themselves from it, still they could not avoid the devastation. Fields had been burned, produce piled high and reeking with disease. Buildings little more than blackened shells or else abandoned, hollow but for the occasional body. The undead usually claimed those for their various infernal purposes.

The blight was the worst. It seemed to seep from the very passage of the undead. So close to such death, the land withered and died. The earth turned grey, plants perished, and animals fled to increasingly small pockets of green. Treading upon it drained their spirit, and set Ollu to a low continual growl, so they avoided it if they could, taking long detours, crossing segments of it only if they could see no other option.

Sometimes they did see undead, but kept their distance, ducking back into the cover of trees or long grass, if such plant life remained. Dravoth had to keep a hand on Ollu’s neck to keep her from charging out, as her suppressed rage found few outlets. She tore her meals into unrecognisable ruins. Willow understood how she felt. Often he wished he could take the entire land in his hand and crush it all to nothing. When such dark thoughts arose, usually as the night stretched towards dawn, he would rise and sit awake, the dark eyes of Dravoth and Ollu upon him, seeing him and understanding him.

Sometimes they met other survivors, heading in various directions, or else refusing to leave what little they had left. Willow always tried to pass on what he knew, about Jaina Proudmoore’s mission to the west, but people refused to listen, or else reacted poorly to the presence of an orc and a large black wolf. The second time weapons were turned on them, they began avoiding even other living company.

‘No convenient undead for me to save them from,’ said Dravoth. Willow couldn’t find anything to say, but they all knew each other’s feelings. They kept walking.

The world reduced to just them and the path ahead, their westward goal. Perhaps they could have counted the days, but they moved and slept at inconsistent times, dictated by avoiding anyone or anything that wasn’t themselves. Time blurred and shifted. The sun still went through its cycles, but they felt as if they had stepped outside the usual rolling progression of one hour to the next.

Then they reached the coast. Tree roots stretching like spread fingers into the salt water and new birdcalls from above. There was more life there, more life still holding on or somehow escaped the spread of destruction they had seen so many times on their journey. They followed the coast north. They found a road with recent wagon ruts in its dirt and they did not hide from that open space. They saw no blight and no undead for those last two days. The sky was wide and they relished the smell of the sea.

Then came the stockade. A hastily built cordon of wood, protecting a small port with ships being laden with people and supplies. Even from far off they could discern the figures on high platforms, watching the road. They approached the gates, and it was so long since Willow had seen another human, had considered a view that wasn’t his own, that it took him too long to realise why the riflemen on guard were yelling at them, why he could see the barrels of the guns levelled at them.

There was so much to explain and so little time in which to do it. If only he could tell those in front of him the whole story, as he had seen it, lived it. Willow ran forward, waving his arms, yelling at them not to shoot.

The bullets passed over his head. When he turned to look back, Dravoth was already on the ground. Ollu was running off the road, for the nearest trees, out of range and lost to sight within seconds. By the time Willow made it back to fall to his knees by his friend’s body, there was no life left there to hold. The blood pooled outwards. He stayed in that position, his brain blank in a way that terrified him. He shook, his armour rattling, and felt unbearably hot.

He was still there when a small group from the stockade opened the gates and approached. They didn’t understand. He didn’t know how to make them understand.

‘We thought he was trying to ransom you or something,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘Heard they do that.’

Another wore the armour of a captain, and looked out the way Ollu had gone. ‘Can’t have creatures like that running loose, even if we are leaving,’ he said. ‘I’ll send some men out after it.’

‘Didn’t want a hostage situation,’ said another soldier. ‘Seen those before, never ends pretty for anyone.’

‘Damn you,’ said Willow, the words barely making it out between his teeth.

‘What did you say?’ asked the captain.

‘We were walking side by side,’ said Willow. His tears fell to mix with the blood. ‘We were walking side by side.’


End file.
